


Let's Make a Deal

by singswithtrees



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Gen, dimo backstory, prequel stuff, timed writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 10:05:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9318512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singswithtrees/pseuds/singswithtrees
Summary: Since we don't know a great deal about the Jager characters pre-Jagerdraught, I've had fun playing with possible backstories for them.  I've always thought that Dimo would make an excellent con man, or some sort of criminal, and that maybe the Heterodynes offered him a deal--certain execution, or a chance to join the Jagers, since they liked his moxie.  Or murder stylings.  Or whatever.  So perhaps somewhat of an AU as well, since it's canon that the Jagerkin are loyal Heterodyne soldiers, the best of the best.  Still, this was a lot of fun to write.  Nothing like writing a maniacal, intelligent building!This may be continued at some point--to be honest, I got so excited to find it again last night that I posted in a fit of glee.





	

Water dripped at a steady pace into the tin cup that was his only companion in this dismal cell. After four drops more, he shifted it slightly, so that the water ran down the outside of the cup instead, and streamed down to a puddle that encircled its base. 

He was lucky. While he was clothed in tatters and had most likely been forgotten, there were cockroaches and the occasional rat. These he ate. He wasn't completely starving, and he had avoided the glass domes of Beetleburg. And then the stone prison door swung open, and an unnatural voice slithered in. "Ah, you're still here. Good. I have a wonderful proposition."

"You? A proposition for me? What the hell kind of a proposition could you have for a poor idiot like me? You don't have a use for vagrants, except as trap fodder."

"It's not for me," the voice conceded, miffed. "It's for the Master. His very amusing little potion is ready for another trial run, and more volunteers are necessary before it gets tested on the troops proper."

"Volunteers? You mean victims."

"No, no, far from it! You do have a choice. You marathon through the tests he has me toss at you, and if you survive, you get to sample it. You might even be one of the lucky few who lives!"

"So I can definitely die here, or I can die in a more amusing manner outside this cell."

"Or live! Living is a possible outcome! It wouldn't be fun if _everyone_ died. And the mutations are quite popular with the ladies."

He sighed. He'd been here long enough that this option sounded better than slowly rotting away in a damp cell. At least he wouldn't be bored. "Okay, sure. Let's go for it."

Shocked silence.

"...you're not going to scream and beg for mercy?"

"Would it do any good?"

"Well, no, but it would be standard. And fun."

"And what would motivate me at all to provide you or your Master with more amusement? Everything I've heard says that the only difference is the guts are more splattered and festive-looking when you're in a 'good' mood."

The voice turned dark, and spikes shot out of the corner of the cell. His foot came only millimeters close to being a kebab. "And you have a problem with that?"

"Not particularly. I'm just saying, this cell is pretty comfy, and the roaches are tasty. I could get used to this. Give me a good reason to leave the cell, besides a tiny chance of survival."

"MFDDU."

"What?"

"Mobile Fun-sized Death-Dealing Units. We like to call them the Master's kittens. They do love to play with their prey before ripping it apart. And I could very easily drop you into their cozy little home right now, and see if it changes your attitude. Kittens make most people infinitely more agreeable." It paused for a moment, musing. "I like to think it's the purring that does it, though they are adorable."

"You've got a funny concept of 'adorable'. Just saying."

"Thank you. I certainly like to think so. You know, the balladeers of the town have written very touching songs extolling the sweet disposition of the things..."

Of course there was fan fiction about the Heterodyne's toys. The MFDDUs were probably considered their own genre. As were those damned tunneling wolves the current Master's sister had come up with. The people of Mechanicsburg claimed they were just the thing to help aerate the gardens and keep the really bad clams at bay. He'd been fortunate enough to avoid the gnawy little buggers.

"You won't even have to voice your screams aloud!" the enthused Castle continued. "Ignatius has the cleverest contraption that uses telepathic eels to read your thoughts and spell them out. It's still technically in beta, though. The eels only know Cyrillic characters, and refuse to learn the Latin alphabet. It's no wonder that particular invention is slow to develop. Stubborn things."

"At least I wouldn't be bored."

"You see? I knew you'd come around." If the voice had a face, it would have been positively beaming. "You're not as foolish as you look. And it's for Science, after all. Can't go wrong there."

He refused to dignify that last thing with an answer. Science had indeed helped the town of Mechanicsburg to become prosperous, but it had never really been of benefit to the peasant stock who were his family and friends. They kept to safe, non-clank technology, raised their cows and pigs, and avoided the madboys as best they could. "All right," he said, his chains clanking as he stood and looked up to where he imagined the Castle's voice was coming from. "I'll take the chance."

"Excellent!" It exclaimed as the door to the cell swung protestingly open. "And, as a bonus, I'll have some of the cockroaches sent to the test chambers for you daily. I am glad to see that someone appreciates my artistry. So hard to make them that crunchy these days!"

"Thanks," he muttered, surprised to find that part of him meant it.

 

It was official now. He hated kittens of the sort that Ignatius kept. Fighting them with weapons was bad, but fighting them hand-to-claw when you were still feeling nauseous from the latest batch of suspiciously bubbling potions that had been "hidden in your food" was wretched. It had now been confirmed for him beyond a shadow of a doubt that the primary sources of humor in these parts was euphemisms and understatement. It was all the sort of thing that would amuse a cruel child--the kind who'd rip the wings off flies, or use a magnification lens on an anthill. It was that, but refined to the state of artistic expression, and in an abstract and detached sort of way, he did admire the horrific beauty of it. He wasn't dead yet, and though he wasn't allowed to speak with the other test subjects more than once a day through the wall when they passed on either side of the winding corridors, he knew from one of the monstrous guards that they were all still alive for a given definition of alive.

The guard surprised him most. He had thought that there were no women among the Heterodyne's creations, either because they had a lower survival rate or because he kept them for his own twisted pleasures. But here one was, dour and nearly wordless, but here. He'd seen her both on foot, clad in armor from head to toe, and out the slit of a window in the courtyard, tending lovingly to a bat-winged lizard that was larger than two horses in every direction. When she did say anything, it was monosyllabic, and muffled. 

In terms of the test chambers themselves, it was the seemingly normal things that brought him the most anxiety. His nightmares on the rare occasions that he slept were plagued with the Castle's library. Books were never meant to do the things these did, and every night before retiring he counted his fingers and toes to make sure all were present. If anything, he had less of a desire to learn to read and write than he'd ever had before. The Teddy Bear's Picnic was a particularly vicious tome. All of the children's books were.

 

Weeks passed, and he had been right. It certainly wasn't ever boring, though the randomness almost added up to a predictable schedule of a murderous sort. His encounters with the female monster guard now numbered in the double digits, and he was learning the rudiments of a dice game he'd overheard some of the cohort playing. That might well give him an in, and a chance to escape. Or to die horribly, torn from limb to limb by rampaging monsters and their equally awful mounts.

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to hear what you thought! What would you like to see me write more of--smut, fluff, angst? What was your favorite part, or a line that you think I ought to use in the future? Please share--I dearly love feedback. <3


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